


There Was Another Way

by TimmyJaybird



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mizumono rewrite, Mostly Hannigram with just a hint of Murder Family as a ship, Multi, Trying to make everything better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:56:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1694048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal had him, with the knife poised, ready to end the life he had wanted so badly with Will Graham, with the daughter they deserved. Yet, instead of the silence he expected, Will spoke, one simple sentence,</p><p>"I would have found you."</p><p>From that moment, reality altered for the three, opening new doors and closing old ones on the life they had allowed to crumble around them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Was Another Way

**Author's Note:**

> A few people asked for a Mizumono rewrite, so that we have to Murder Family getting away in tact. So, here's how I would do it. Sadly, it doesn't erase all the pain for all the characters of the finale- but I get my Murder Family which makes me incredibly happy.
> 
> Obviously, if you haven't watched Mizumono, hit that back button now. I've already spoiled stuff for you.

Will felt the air settling on him, the chilled rain freezing his skin, his muscles, all the way down to his bones. In the back of his head, Alana was laying in the rain, under his jacket, shivering and alone- hanging on a thread that left her teetering between to absolutes- life, and death.

The gun felt foreign in his hands, but he gripped it anyway, held it despite not knowing if he could ever pull the trigger. His footsteps must have made a sound, but to him, there was only silence and the pouring of the rain, drumming against Hannibal’s house and echoing through the lofty rooms. He was as good as a ghost himself.

He saw the broken glass first, before the blood slowly pooling from behind the pantry door. He smelled it, iron and copper and _life_ , tasted it when he tried to inhale. He stood for a moment, a brief span of time, before he turned, expecting his gun to aim at nothing, at an emptiness, a void of space and time and no existence.

Instead, he found Abigail.

She stared at him, sobbing yet trying to hold the break in, and Will felt the rain echoing inside his skull, the bang of the drops as they bounced from one side to the other. He stared at her, so sure she wasn’t real, she didn’t exist, she _couldn’t exist_ \- no in this reality. The teacup that had shattered could not reform itself.

“Abigail,” he whispered, lowering his gun, and she mewled, softly, the broken sound of a child, and his chest collapsed, ribs puncturing lungs and heart and yet he breathed on.

“I didn’t know what else to do...so I just did what he told me.” Her voice broke the walls around him, shattered space and time and Will wanted to hold her, to pull the shaking girl into his arms and press his face to her hair, breathe and tell her it was alright, he would never let her be taken again. He wanted her, wanted her alive-

More than life and death and breath and blood- more than the world. More than anything- anything except-

“Where is he?”

Abigail didn’t respond, not with words. Her eyes, the blue of the ocean trapped inside her perfectly pieced together skull, moved frantically, and Will knew, _he knew_ , could feel the warmth in the air, the presence behind him, the solid shape Hannibal took up in his reality.

“You were supposed to...” he started to turn, voice wavering, felt his breath escaping him and his eyes beginning to burn, “to leave.” He looked up at Hannibal, took in the blood on his face, the falling of his ashen blonde hair, the fatigue in his eyes. Slowly, he squared his shoulders, and everything Will had ever fought down for this man began to force its way up- the admiration and the adoration, the desire and the devastation, all coiled together in his belly and chest and wanted to claw up his throat and spill forth in words Will did not even know. There was a quivering within his body he hadn’t realized was there, felt it as his vision wavered once as he stared Hannibal right in his eyes.

“We couldn’t leave without you.”

Will just stared at Hannibal, barely breathed in the same air as him, searched his eyes for something, anything- something to grasp to, hold onto and cling to in this mess. His fingers itched to touch, his hold on his gun loose, barely existent. He wanted to give up on his walls, the facades, everything and anything that had forced the look Hannibal was giving him to exist in _this moment_. It was admiration, still, affection and a sad sort of sweetness that pierced Will to his core.

Hannibal sighed, heavy and slow, reached up and pressed his hand to Will’s face, guiding it back to stroke his thumb over his ear, his fingers mingling in his cold, wet curls. In his other hand, he twisted his knife, gripped it, readied it.

“I would have found you.”

Hannibal froze, arm tense, his knife poised and ready. He knew his own intention, the way he would penetrate Will’s body and drag the life from his belly. Yet Will was staring at him with eyes wide and grey, devoid of blue, but not of affection. Clearer now then Hannibal had ever seen it, and his silence was his only question to Will’s speech.

“I would have hunted for you,” Will whispered, voice wavering, and there were tears along his eyes, pooling, mingling with rain water. “I would have found you.”

“You would deny me my life,” Hannibal whispered, and Will shook his head, felt Hannibal stroke his thumb along his ear again.

“No, no not your life.”

“My freedom then, you would take that from me.” Hannibal’s hand clenched tighter around the knife, yet he made no move to drag it through Will’s belly, he kept it firmly at his hip. “Confine me to a prison cell.”

“No.” The word was weak from Will’s mouth, tumbled from his cold lips, as his gun tumbled from his hand, clattered to the floor, useless, forgotten. “I wouldn’t deny you anything, Hannibal.” Hannibal’s thumb worked over his ear again, and Will felt his breath rush out, unable to draw it back in. Behind him, he still heard Abigail, broken, choked sobs and breath in a space that should have been empty.

Hannibal looked past Will for a moment, at Abigail as she watched, and then back again at the man in his hold. “Time did reverse. The teacup that I shattered did come together. A place was made for Abigail in your world. Do you understand?”

Will shook his head, gently, his stubble pressing along Hannibal’s wrist.

“A place was made of all of us, together. I wanted to surprise you.” There was grief in Hannibal’s words, and Will blinked back a strain of his tears, only to have the next wave rush down his cheeks.

“You brought her back to me,” Will whispered, and he could forget in that moment that it was Hannibal who had taken her originally, in a set of time that seemed so distant it simply couldn’t exist.

“I never took her,” Hannibal reasoned, “Simply let you misplace her.” He slipped a little closer, Will felt his breath, smelled his blood, swore he heard the click of the gears of his mind as they turned and echoed in this beautiful man’s skull. “But she was a gift, Will. For both of us. The surprise was family.” The word hurt Hannibal, visibly in the way his eyes wavered, the way his voice lost it’s strength for a moment. “I gave you a rare gift, Will. I let you know, _see me_.” Hannibal’s lips twitched as he spoke, angry and mourning over something that still stood in front of him, living and breathing and whole. “But you didn’t want it.”

“Didn’t I?” Will reached up, slipped his hand onto the back of Hannibal’s shoulder, gripped him. “Didn’t I want it, Hannibal? Didn’t I want to see you, to _know you_?”

“To destroy me.” Will shook his head, one choked sob escaping him.

“Maybe once,” Will admitted, before he locked their eyes again. “But not now. I wanted to know you, Hannibal, to devote myself to you.”

The knife in Hannibal’s hand clattered to the floor, and suddenly Will was pulled against him, flush chest to chest, and Hannibal had both arms locked around him, gripping fistfuls of his hair, pressing his face into it. Will sobbed, clung to him, wanted to crawl into his ribs and curl up in the place of his heart, lull himself to sleep with the melody of its beats.

“Do you believe you can change me, the way I’ve changed you?” Hannibal whispered to him, couldn’t believe Will was compliant in his arms now, after this, after the blood and the way the knife had felt in his hand- so ready to end his own dreams, to gut them and lock them away under the floor boards to be forgotten.

“I already did,” Will whispered to him, both knowing the truth was heavy, blatant in those words. Will had crawled into Hannibal, infested his blood and breath with his own life, had changed him, had forced him to open up. Will had inspired Hannibal to think of family for the first time since Mischa, had inspired him to go so far as to keeping Abigail alive, the final tie between them, the final thread woven between their existences to keep them bound as one.

Hannibal pulled back, despite wanting to stay locked with Will forever. He looked at Abigail, held his hand out. “Abigail, come to me.” Will turned his head, watched her approach, and Hannibal took her hand, pulled her into their shared embrace, allowed Will to slip his arms around her and bury his face into her hair, sob fresh tears. Abigail shook, look up at Hannibal for a moment, before turning fully to Will and throwing her arms around him, sinking into him and the sudden safety he provided. Hannibal watched, for a brief moment, stroked one hand over the back of her hair, before whispering, “We need to go.”

Will said nothing at first, only gripped Abigail’s hand as they followed Hannibal through the dark house. Silently, he was grateful not to go out the front door- he didn’t want to see Alana, not again, not now. Not knowing what he was doing, what he was embracing fully in this moment.

Not when seeing her would make him feel like he was leaving her to the wolves. He had done all he could do, and any moment he knew a paramedic would be at her side. He could do nothing but hold her hand- and would she even want him? If she saw, if she knew, the present, the here and now, she wouldn’t. Will did not begrudge her that, nor blame her.

He crawled into the back of Hannibal’s car, pulling Abigail in with him and into his arms, nearly on his lap. He held her, rocked her, cried into her hair over her very existence, as Hannibal drove them through the rain, away from the house.

Had Will been thinking, he might have thought it was a poor decision to be in Hannibal’s car, he might have tried to advise him to do something else- but it was gone. Every thought was gone- everything except for the desire to have Hannibal hold him again, press him square to his chest and stroke his hair. Everything except Abigail, held tight in his arms, gripping them as they were locked around her, as Will kissed her hair, now wet from the rain, whimpered to her wordlessly. Speech was gone, he had given it all to Hannibal and had left none for this moment, but it didn’t matter. His Abigail was existing again, living and breathing, and he wanted to swallow down every breath, taste her very existence and memorize it so he could never forget.

She turned and he pressed his mouth to her forehead. She clawed up closer, tilted her head, found his mouth and kissed him once, a brief moment of connection, and then she sank into him and shivered in her rain soaked clothing.

Behind them, the only warmth Will had to offer, his coat, was out of reach, left for Alana as the only kindness Will could offer her. He knew, come the calm of the storm, he would mourn her.

*

Will wondered how long Hannibal had been planning this. He lost track of where they were, in the rain and the fatigue of his shocked mind. They switched cars- he thought as much to give Hannibal a nod of approval over that, and stayed in the back seat holding Abigail. She slept, eventually, and Will dared to reach up, cup his hand around the back of Hannibal’s neck as he drove, stroke his thumb along the side. He didn’t speak, nor did Hannibal, but he heard him exhale, could see the way he tightened his hold on the wheel.

Will wondered if Hannibal enjoyed the touch, or if he had been waiting for Will to grasp him, reach his hand around and choke the life out of him.

Will dozed at one point, woke to blackness and a stilled car outside a small motel. He stirred, Abigail sleeping along him, and forced himself to sit up, just as Hannibal’s door slammed shut. A moment later Hannibal was opening one, leaning in and reaching his hand out to Abigail as she stirred. She took it, and he helped her out into the rain, closing the door. Will let himself out of the car and followed behind them.

There was a plant hanging by the door, and from it, Hannibal fished out a key. He unlocked the door and stepped inside with Abigail, leaving the lights off, and Will closed and locked it behind them. He thought to reach for the light, then decided against it, wouldn’t shatter the darkness until Hannibal requested it. He stood by the door, surveyed the room- small, one open space with a bed and a set of chairs, as Hannibal led Abigail to what Will assumed was the bathroom.

He watched as Hannibal stroked her hair, kissed her forehead, and opened the door for her. She disappeared after the light was clicked on, and then the door closed, and it was darkness again, just Will and Hannibal breathing in the same space.

Hannibal walked over to a small closet, opening it, and Will watched him pull a small suitcase out, lifting it onto the bed, and unzipping it. He pulled out a few articles of clothing, set them aside, and zipped it back up, this time leaving it against the wall as he returned to the closet, pulling free two more.’

“One for each of us,” Will whispered, still by the door. Hannibal looked at him, his face still sporting dried blood, his eyes tired.

“Yes.” He set them on the bed, then gathered up the clothing he’d set aside, and made his way to the bathroom. He knocked once, waited a moment, then let himself in, and Will took the moment to cross the room to the bed, running his fingers along the bags, wondering when Hannibal had set all of this up, when he had begun to prepare for this new phase of their life.

He heard Hannibal returning, but he didn’t look. When his hand rested on the small of his back, Will relaxed, felt the way his fingers pressed in. Hannibal leaned closer, nose nudging into Will’s curls.

“There is no going back, Will,” he whispered, and Will knew it was true. By now, any strings he had been grasping to his old life were gone, ripped from him and cut into fine flakes. Alana, the dogs, his home- all of it, lost to him.

He wanted to mourn, yet he knew he couldn’t. Not yet.

Will expected an arm to slip around him, but Hannibal retracted his touch, and did not replace it. Not as he gave Will a nod to take a shower himself, once Abigail returned, in shorts and an over sized shirt- nor when he himself emerged, in just a fresh pair of underwear, and Hannibal replaced him.

Abigail crawled into bed while Hannibal showered, and Will sat on it, stroking her hair gently. She smiled, looking up at him in the dark.

“He told me,” she whispered, “you would come with us. We’d be a family again.” Will said nothing, and Abigail reached for his hand, pulled it to her mouth and kissed his palm. “He promised you would.”

Will wondered what would have happened, had he not.

When Hannibal returned, Will stood, to make his way to one of the chairs to try and sleep, but Hannibal was shaking his head. The older man pulled the blanket back, sliding in one one side of Abigail, and draping an arm over her, pulling her tightly to him. She squirmed, but seemed pleased, closing her eyes, and Will carefully climbed in on her other side, his own arm draping over her. His hand rested on Hannibal’s arm, rubbed it gently, and the older man looked at him over Abigail’s head, as he kissed her hair.

Silently, Will kept the eye contact and kissed her forehead- wanting to press his mouth directly to Hannibal’s, not the first time he had felt and, he knew not the last.

And by the way Hannibal had held him, he was sure the other man was thinking it too.

*

Hannibal awoke before Will and Abigail come morning, and set about getting himself dressed. He roused Abigail first, gently, and coaxed her from Will’s warmth so she could dress. She yawned, but did as she was asked, as Will himself stirred, blinking back sleep and sitting up to stretch. The scar by his shoulder from Jack’s bullet was just noticeable in the faint light. Hannibal stared at it for a moment, thought of the scar he could have given Will, had his knife drove true into his gut, severed inches of flesh. Had he lived, it would be an impressive mar against his flesh.

Beneath his shirt, his arms throbbed from Will’s own brand.

He loaded his own suitcase and Abigail’s into the car, then Will’s once he was dressed. Will himself had drifted to Abigail, who was brushing her hair. Carefully, he took the brush and ran it through her dark hair, wanting to be close to her, to touch. He still couldn’t fathom that she was real, living and breathing in his reality again, perfect in a new sort of innocence, a reborn sense.

His fingers brushed along her temple, down lower, over the scarred, risen flesh along the side of her face, where her ear had been. He swallowed, pressed his face into the back of her head, and whispered quietly, “I’m sorry.”

He wished he had seen, sooner. Seen so as to protect her- and once, once he would have hoped to have seen so he could stop Hannibal. Now he just wished he had seen so they could have left sooner-

Or perhaps allowed fate to play out so they never had to leave.

Abigail said nothing, and Will left her to braid her hair, pulling it to her left to hide the scar, and carefully tie a light scarf around her neck to hide the other. He watched, transfixed, until she was done and Hannibal was quietly urging them to the car.

This time, Abigail sat alone in the back seat, and Will accompanied Hannibal in the front. He didn’t speak, not at first, not until the highways slipped from busy to winding roads with trees lining them, and he tipped his head back, wanting to reach over and take Hannibal’s hand. Wanting an intimacy, a small one, to let him know he hadn’t dreamed the embrace. That Hannibal had liked at him, had kissed through Abigail to his mouth.

“Where are we going?” Will finally whispered. Hannibal glanced back at Abigail, through the rear view mirror, then over at Will briefly, before his eyes went back to the road.

“We have a flight to catch at 8 AM tomorrow,” he answered, “it will take us to Paris.”

“What if they froze your passport? What about Abigail...and me?” Hannibal smiled, the kind that ricocheted off the glass and into Will’s skull to wrap around his brain, squeeze tight and make his head fuzzy.

“Everything has been arranged,” Hannibal offered, reaching out with one hand and sinking his fingers into Will’s hair. Will’s breath left him, scalp tingling with every small rub of Hannibal’s finger tips. “Do not worry, beloved.”

Will’s heart raced, and from the rear view mirror, he saw Abigail smiling. Smiling like a child looking at her parents, and his belly grew hot. Without realizing it, he sighed, and Hannibal’s hand tightened in his hair, possessively.

Will’s heart fluttered once, twice, and then set itself to thumping against his ribs.

*

The next motel was a similar experience- no lights, and come the short expanse of time allotted for sleep, Abigail fell in between Hannibal and Will like a wall- yet not one Will was interested in breaking down. Climbing over perhaps, from time to time- but never breaking. He couldn’t stand the thought of Abigail shattering once more.

She would stay porcelain, unchipped, forever in his mind.

She slept first, Will knew by the way her breathing evened calmly. She nestled into him, sought out his warmth, and it held her tightly, Hannibal’s arm over her slipping off, his hand finding Will’s a taking it.

“Is this sustainable?” Will whispered, and felt Hannibal’s thumb run over his knuckles.

“There is only one way to find out, Will.” Will nodded, loved the sound of Hannibal’s voice shattering the darkness around them. The doctor’s hand tightened on his, and Will smiled at him, over Abigail. For a brief moment, he saw Hannibal smile back.

It was enough.

*

The alarm Hannibal had set woke them up exceptionally early. They showered and dressed, Hannibal instructing them in what they should wear from the small suitcases. Abigail followed suit without hesitation, and Will wondered, as he stood with his own shirt unbuttoned and his curls still damp, if she would ever be broken of her obedience to Hannibal.

Will didn’t want to interfere, but he didn’t want to see Abigail become a pet.

She was finishing her braid when Will finished button his shirt- he was happy to find it was plaid, and Hannibal hadn’t insisted on a tie- but had given him a nice jacket to wear over it. He didn’t look as if he fit, with Hannibal in his three piece suit and Abigail looking young and lovely- smiling. Smiling like everything was okay, and it made Will melt. He looked at Hannibal, saw the man had a similar look to his face- melting over the happiness of this girl. Melting over their daughter smiling.

Will’s stomach clenched, and he took Abigail’s hand to walk her out to the car.

*

Will expected the worst. His heart fluttered and he had to keep his hands in his pockets at the airport. But the new passports Hannibal produced, the new IDs, documentation, all went flawlessly. They slipped from the shells of their former existences into these new-faced ghosts, assumed a new reality where the blood bath that had been their courtship- Will could call it nothing else- had faded into nothing. Simply a memory, simply a dream.

Abigail sat in a seat in front of them, by the window. Before the plane took off, she sat on her knees facing them, conversing quietly. With Hannibal, mostly. Asking if he would show her Paris- would they be there long.

He had promised with a smile to show her anything she wanted, had reached out and stroked her hair, called her precious. Will’s chest tightened, and when Hannibal’s hand retracted he caught it, held it for just a moment, then let it go again. Abigail smiled at it, and sank down into her seat to fasten her seat belt and look out the window, enjoy the view of life as it prepared to fade away, become a picture in just another story book.

Once the plane was airborn, Will felt himself relax. His fingers were still drumming on his thigh, but his leg had stopped shaking. He glanced out the window at the clouds, parting like a fresh misty gate, and felt Hannibal’s hand close over his, squeeze his fingers gently.

“Relax,” he whispered, turning slightly. Will glanced at him, said nothing. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say in that moment, or in the next countless moments to come. So much had happened, so quickly- had he misspoken, had he not said anything at all, what would have been the outcome? He had heard the knife in Hannibal’s hand fall, he had known it was there- and for a moment, he had entertained not speaking at all. He’d have let Hannibal tear him open, gut him and leave him bleeding to die on the floor- simply because only Hannibal had that right to him. At least it would have been intimate, Hannibal would have held him tightly, he knew. The way he had, after Will spoke. He would never have been denied his dying embrace.

Will looked down at Hannibal’s hand, over his, then back at him, at his dark eyes, tired around the edges, he could tell. He imagined they would sleep for a thousand years, when the time came. Press Abigail between them and fall into it, wake for a moment to watch her go, shielded from the majority of the fatigue of what was going on- then fall back into sleep, the two of them.

Entangled.

Will wondered what it would feel like to have his legs tangled with Hannibal’s, to be pressed into his arms, hear the beat of his heart inside brittle ribs that had held too much for too long. He wondered what it would be like to kiss Hannibal- and realized he was wondering this far too often now. Yet, it hadn’t happened.

He must have been staring at Hannibal in that way, that specific way that gave away his affections, because Hannibal’s face softened. He pulled his hand back, kissed his own thumb, then reached for Will, cupped his cheek and brushed his thumb along his lower lip, causing the younger man’s breath to catch. Will turned, found Hannibal’s palm and kissed it once, his heart fluttering when Hannibal smiled before pulling back.

Will wanted more, but knew he would have to wait. The time, the place, the small span of reality they claimed as their own, had to be _right_ for it. They needed to be secluded, isolated, from everything- even from Abigail, for a moment’s time. There were things that needed to be said, understood- confessions and obsessions that must be proclaimed, before Will could have the intimacy he wanted. Before he could shut the door on the life that still clawed at his heels.

*

They were all tired, come the landing. Hannibal called them a cab, while Abigail leaned into Will and he kept an arm around her shoulders, rubbing her arm gently, smiling at her. She looked up, and spoke once, only once, before slipping back into silence.

“I missed you.”

Will was sure this was just as hard on her.

The cab ride would have been exciting, had the plane not dained them. Abigail still looked out the windows, but her smile was tamed. Hannibal clutched her hand the entire time, rubbed her knuckles, and when he spoke, pointing anything out, it was in French. Will didn’t understand, his mind pulling at the Cajun French he had known as a boy, but in his fatigue, his mental disorder of the world around him, he found no stirngs to grasp to for meaning, but the sounds were soothing, and it was enough, for that moment.

Will should have known their hotel would be far more reminiscent of Hannibal’s lifestyle than the tiny motels they had shared those first two nights. Necessity had bred them, but now there was time for comfort.

Hannibal took their suitcases and slipped them into one of the closests. Will noticed, inside, there was another, and he presumed there were more in the second closet. He wanted to ask, to question Hannibal as to _how_ he had done all of this, but instead he grabbed the man’s hand as he tried to walk by, pulling him closer, letting his arms wrap around his body and slipping back into the embrace they had shared in the dark of Hannibal’s home. Hannibal hesitated, only for a moment, before he had a hand in Will’s hair, was rocking him gently, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“It’s over,” he whispered, and Will wondered if it was for himself, or Will- or Abigail even, the ghost who had flitted from the room and into her own, transfixed by the view from her window and the way the air itself felt different.

*

After showers, dinner, and the quiet, brief conversation the three could manage, there was the silent agreement that they needed sleep- a full night of rest before anything else could happen. Abigail retired to her own room, after kissing both Will and Hannibal on the cheek, and making Hannibal promise, _swear_ , that he would take her into the city the next day, at some point. He promised they would go have lunch, that it would be everything he had promised her.

Will wondered, as he followed Hannibal into the other bedroom- the one, he realized, they would share, and share alone- what else he had promised Abigail. He watched Hannibal turn down the bed, already in his pajamas- still a sight Will wasn’t used to, even having seen it before- and crawl into bed with a sigh. Will hesitated, then peeled his t-shirt off over his head taking the time to fold it and set it aside on a chair, followed by his jeans. He could feel Hannibal watching him undress, and it gave him warm shivers, all along his spine, down the length of his legs.

When he crawled into bed, he lay facing Hannibal, who was on his back, looking up at the dark ceiling. Carefully, Will reached out, ran his fingers along Hannibal’s arm. He should have found Abigail in between them, their privacy wall, but all he found was Hannibal, and suddenly he was closing the gap and squirming up against Hannibal’s side, his hand resting on his chest. Hannibal’s arm slipped around him, squeezed him, thumb stroking along his shoulder.

“What did you promise her?” Will whispered, and Hannibal closed his eyes for a moment.

“I’d show her the world,” he admitted, “She would see places she had only dreamed of. I promised her a life of color and comfort.”

“You promised her more.”

“I promised her a family.” Hannibal turned, looked at Will. “I promised her you.”

“How did you know-“

“That you would come?” Hannibal sighed, gave an amused chuckle- at himself, Will realized. “I thought I had come to know you, Will. Like I let you know me.” His voice had a hint of bitterness, and they wer ein his home in the dark all over again. Will clutched at Hannibal’s shirt, ran his foot along his calf as a reminder that they _weren’t_. “I was nearly wrong.”

“Not nearly,” Will corrected, “Not even close to wrong. I would have followed.”

“You would have had me incarcerated. I am still piecing together how you are here, now.”

“I’m here because I want to be. That’s all the reasoning either of us needs.” Will pushed himself up, looking over Hannibal, head bowed slightly. The older man reached up, stroked his cheek carefully. “If you had run, I would have followed. _You let me know you, Hannibal_. I could have found you. I would have found you.”

“And then?”

Will swallowed, words tingling on his tongue, but nothing feeling right. He exhaled, gave up on the notion of words, and leaned down, carefully closing the gap between them, until his mouth was playing over Hannibal’s, a sweet, light breath of a kiss. Hannibal tilted his head back, slightly, and Will pressed closer, fuller, his mouth moving in slow, lazy strokes along Hannibal’s, until lips turned to open mouths, still leisurely in the dark.

Will’s breath was gone. He forget how to breathe, what breathing even was, and told himself it didn’t matter. Hannibal’s hand went to his hair, gripped, his other hand finding Will’s waist and stroking, keeping him in place with gentle touches, silent coaxing. Will needed none of it, in that moment, he knew this was where he belonged- that the life he had led, up to this point, had been nothing more than the waiting process for his true reality. This was it, this here and now, with Abigail’s gentle breathing in the next room and Hannibal’s mouth sucking gentle noises from him, whimpers of affection, his hands warm and holding him gently.

This was everything Will needed his life to be.

When the kiss broke, Hannibal continued to stroke his hair. He smiled up at him, for a single moment, before guiding him down, Will’s head resting on his chest. Within it, his heart was beating, thumping gently against his ribs- slow and steady, and Will closed his eyes as Hannibal pet him lovingly, counted the beats.

He got to thirty-two, before the world slipped away from him, and he slept.

*

When Will woke up, it was to a knock at the bedroom door, the sounds of the hinges as it opened, as bare feet padded into the room. He felt the light hit him, saw the black of his eyelids go pink, and stirred. Around him, Hannibal’s arm clenched tighter, and Will buried his face into his chest more, sighing.

The bed dipped, and he felt long hair running along his arm, tickling him, then Abigail’s voice, “Guys, c’mon, it’s morning!”

Will groaned, felt Hannibal moving, could imagine the look he was giving Abigail.

“It’s rude to simply come into someone else’s bedroom, Abigail.”

“I knocked.” She was pouting, slightly, Will could tell. She seemed infinitely younger. It startled him, and he couldn’t decide if he liked it or not. “Besides, I’m starving. I want to go get breakfast.”

“There is a lovely cafe just outside the hotel,” Hannibal was saying, and Will finally opened his eyes, saw hi bathed in fresh morning light. “If you are careful, you may go yourself.”

“My French isn’t good enough.”

“You will do just fine,” Hannibal offered, and Will could hear his voice rumbling in his chest. He snuggled closer. “They speak English very well there. When you come back, Will and I will be up and I will take you around Paris.”

Abigail smiled, and the bed moved. Will heard her footsteps as she left, the door closing, and a few moments later the door to the hotel room. Will sighed, and Hannibal looked down at him, offering a smile. “I take it I need to get up?” Will asked, and Hannibal stroked his hair, gently.

“Not yet.” Will shifted, pushing himself up slightly, and found Hannibal’s mouth for a kiss, slow and sleepy, his own mind still half in the haze of slumber. Hannibal’s hand tightened in his hair, and Will felt his tongue for the first time, tracing the swell of his lower lip. Will shivered, made a small noise, and opened his mouth, letting Hannibal penetrate him and taste, test teeth and the strength of Will’s own tongue as it pressed to his.

Will heard a small noise, thought he had made, and realized, as Hannibal pulled Will closer, trying to drag him on top of him, that it was _Hannibal_. Will shivered, crawling over him, pushing his own tongue into Hannibal’s mouth now, running it along the points of his finely honed cannibal teeth as he straddled him, pressing his weight down against Hannibal and feeling the man press up to him.

He was hard, Will realized as Hannibal’s erection dug through clothing and against him, and Will realized he wanted him so. He was hard himself, and he laid himself out, dug his excitement into Hannibal’s belly. He could have blamed the morning, the fact that anyone who kissed the way Hannibal did would excite him-

But it was this man’s very existence that was making Will slowly lose his mind.

Will broke the kiss to tip his head back, and Hannibal’s mouth went to his throat, kissing along it, sucking gently at his throat. Will mewled, pulled away and rolled off of Hannibal, falling onto his back on the mattress. Hannibal took the silent hint, lifted himself up and moved over Will, raining gentle kisses along his collar bone, down and over one nipple, teeth grazing it, leaving Will gasping. Hannibal’s tongue soothed the ache, before he continued, down his belly, his hands running along Will’s thighs.

Will’s mind was white, seething and writhing and static. He tipped his head back as Hannibal’s hands went up his hips, held his waist, his thumbs stroking skin, and he wondered if Hannibal was picturing the way this skin would have opened for him, given him the insight to Will’s very core. He wondered if he imagined the scar he would have left behind.

Will would have died for Hannibal, had the man wanted it. But he would have lived, if given the chance. Lived and chased and found, and pulled Hannibal back into his snare once more. He’d love him until the end-

He’d love him until they were dust in the ground, and the world around them collapsed into oblivion’s heated blackness. He’d love him until they ceased to exist fully, and even then- there would always be this hole in time where Will had loved and longed for him.

Hannibal ran his cheek along Will’s confined erection, smiling as Will whimpered. Will didn’t wonder if they were _really going to do this_ \- all his mind seemed to wonder was why it had taken so long? Why the courtship had cost so much life and blood, why he hadn’t fallen for the man the first time he saw him in Jack Crawford’s office?

Will knew he had fallen, in that moment. He had simply blinded himself.

Hannibal tugged on his underwear, pulled them down enough to free Will’s cock, run his tongue along it, leaving Will gasping. Will arched off the mattress when Hannibal swallowed him, sucked on him gently. He grasped at the sheets, knotted them in his hands and tossed his head, resisting the urge to drive up into him. It was perfect, Will didn’t think anyone in all his life had felt like this. The feeling left him tripping along the edge of _too much_ , and Hannibal seemed to sense it as he pulled off, kissed the head of his cock once, and then pulled himself from the bed. Will took the moment to tug his underwear off, toss them to the floor, and stared at the open door until Hannibal returned, rolling a small bottle in his hand.

Under any other circumstances, any other person, Will would have been terrified. With Hannibal, he was excited, wanted to be opened up for him. Hannibal couldn’t open him with a knife and have him, but he could open him with his body.

Hannibal took a long look at him, and Will smiled, flushing a little, flicking his own eyes over Hannibal’s body. “Off,” Will whispered, adding, “please,” softly after, and Hannibal smiled and pulled his shirt off, draping it over Will’s folded clothing, resting on a chair. He hooked his fingers in his pants, hesitating- Will realized, giving him a moment to change his mind, to say no.

Will couldn’t imagine anything in the world that would have him change his mind in that moment.

Then Hannibal was pulling everything off, leaving it with the rest of their clothing, and stalking back to the bed, naked and Will realized _absolutely perfect_. He sat up as Hannibal got one knee on the bed and wrapped his arms around his neck, digging his hands into his hair and tugged him down for a kiss, pushing into his mouth and happily moaning for him, loving him with tongue and lips and small noises- a language Will spoke without every being taught. A language he was willing to speak to Hannibal forever.

Hannibal crawled onto the bed, broke the kiss to stay on his knees, as Will pushed himself up on all fours, pressed his mouth to Hannibal’s hip, kissed once. Hannibal ran his fingers along his spine, to the curve of his ass, and along the break of flesh. Will gasped, felt strange to feel Hannibal’s finger tips pressing along his hole, but didn’t ask him to stop. He kissed along the slight curve of Hannibal’s belly, down, held his hip with one hand as he ran his tongue along the head of his cock, heard Hannibal inhale sharply.

He concentrated on the feel of Hannibal’s cock as he sucked it into his mouth slowly, drowned out the sound of Hannibal popping the top on the lube, the feeling of his fingers leaving his body. His cock was heavy and hot against his tongue, pleasing, like an anchor between them. Hannibal’s fingers returned at this point, slick now, and Will stayed rather calm as they traced his hole, before two breached muscle and pushed inside him, creating a space where there had been none. A space Hannibal would fill when he let Will engulf him, take in his existence and share a space in reality.

Will exhaled through his nose as they worked inside him, finding he liked the feeling. Above him, Hannibal smiled softly, whispering something to him, his other hand carding fingers through his hair affectionately. Will caught the word _beloved_ and the rest was just lovely sound. Hannibal worked a third finger into him, and Will moaned around his cock, fingers digging into his hip with near bruising force, catching glimpses of the scar on one of Hannibal’s arms as he continued to tease his hair.

When Hannibal curled his fingers for the first time, Will cried out, Hannibal’s cock slipping from his mouth, bumping his chin, and Will couldn’t catch his breath before Hannibal did it again. Will began to quiver, and then the fingers were gone and Will was mewling, whimpering, a broken “n-no,” leaving his mouth because he wanted it back. But then Hannibal was behind him, stroking himself, adding to Will’s saliva so he would be slick enough to cause Will no discomfort. When he grabbed Will’s hips with one hand, Will spread his thighs, dropped his weight to his hands, pressed into the bed, and raised his head as slowly, Hannibal pushing into his body.

His vision blurred, and Will realized it was because his eyes were wet, at the corners and nearly brimming. Hannibal was fully inside him, one hand pushing up along his spine, and Will couldn’t stop the tears as they ran down his face in fine rivets. One thrust, and Will was calling out, “H-annibal,” the broken name driving Hannibal to push into him again, groaning, his own head dropping down for a moment. Will was tight, holding him, quivering perfectly, and he heard his broken sobs- yet Will called him on, his name, over and over again- a mantra of desire.

“Hannibal, Hannibal,” Will gasped, and Hannibal wrapped his arms around him, pulling him up onto just his knees, holding him back against him as they rocked together. One hand ran along his belly, fingers tracing an invisible line along Will’s skin.

“I would have cut you,” Hannibal whispered into his ear, “here.” His fingers traced it, Will’s cock bumping along his wrist, one of his scars, as he dropped his head back.

“You would have left me for dead,” Will forced out, Hannibal’s cock rubbing his prostate and making it hard to think. The doctor’s fingers traced the invisible scar again, searing it into Will’s flesh. “But I would have _lived_.” Will pushed back against him, strained up as far as he could and brushed Hannibal’s lips. “I’d live so I could find you again, darlin’.” 

Hannibal groaned, reached a hand up and held Will’s face as it was, kissed him, continuing to rock inside him, his other hand tracing the line along his belly one more time, there in another reality, another play of events, before he grasped Will’s cock, stroking him in time with their rocking.

Will choked on Hannibal’s tongue, his kiss, eyes rolling as he grasped at the arm that stroked him- wanted to stop him so this could go on forever. He wanted to have Hannibal inside him for the rest of eternity, wanted to be a part of his man until time ceased and caved in on itself. But Hannibal felt so perfect, touched him in a way only Will knew how to touch himself, and he was sobbing Hannibal’s name into his mouth as he came, breaking down into a mass of quivering spasms. Hannibal groaned, held his face tighter as he came inside him, spilled a hot reminder of their bond inside his body, before finally releasing Will’s mouth, the younger man gasping for breath.

Hannibal released his hold, and Will fell, their bodies separating, catching himself on his elbows, his ass arched up. He looked back, over his shoulder with eyes so blue they were the sky and the sea mingling inside his perfect skull, pupils blown, lips parted.

Hannibal wanted him, all over again, and he growled for a moment, losing himself in the animalistic possessiveness Will brought out in him. Will whimpered, would have let Hannibal tear him apart then, but the man restrained himself, slipped down onto the mattress and guided Will back, settling his back against his chest and cradling Will. One hand stroked his bangs back from his sweat slicked forehead, kissed at his shoulder. From the corner of Will’s eyes, he could see one of Hannibal’s scars again.

“I would not have left you,” Hannibal whispered, and for a moment, Will had no idea where the words should be connecting. Then he heard words as Hannibal had traced his belly, and his mind synthesized them, slowly at first. “I can never leave you, Will. You are far too...enthralling.” His hand stopped stroking his hair, slipped down to hold his throat, but not squeeze, thumb moving tenderly. “Remarkable boy, I do love you so.”

He kissed the back of Will’s head, and Will smiled, reaching up to run his hand along Hannibal’s lower arm, fingers curling around and just finding the scars there. His own physical brand on Hannibal, his own mark to prove he had claimed just as much as Hannibal ever had. When he’d told the man he’d already changed him, he hadn’t lied. Physically, yes, but the layout of his brain, his mental chemistry, the rhythm of his heart in his ribs cage- Will had changed it all. He’d breathed into it and off set the balance, righted it only when his presence, with his willingness to recreate the world with Hannibal, here.

“We should shower,” Hannibal offered, “Before Abigail returns. She will be adamant about seeing the city.”

“How long will we be here?” Will asked as Hannibal disentangled himself and stood. Will watched him stretch for a moment, before the man held out a hand and helped Will up, holding him against his solid body.

“I planned for two weeks,” Hannibal offered, “While our permanent home is being adjusted for our needs.”

“And where is that?” Will didn’t need an answer, could live with the mystery forever, because in the strangest way, he trusted Hannibal fully. And the thought of this life falling apart, of someone catching them for who and what they are, was so far from his reality that it didn’t even exist, not in that moment.

“Florence,” Hannibal whispered, pressing a kiss to Will’s temple. “A lovely little villa for the three of us. A new life, a fresh beginning.” He turned, stroked his fingers back through Will’s curls, looking down into his eyes with burgundy pools that suddenly seemed years younger- awake and alive. All the fatigue of the past few days was gone, the hurt Will had seen in the dark of Hannibal’s home, in a distant world so far away. “A world for the three of us to create.”

“As a family,” Will offered, and Hannibal smiled again, nodding once.

“Yes. A family.” He leaned down, pressed his mouth gently to Will’s, slowly, and Will responded, reaching up to grab at Hannibal’s arms, stroke his thumbs over the man’s scars and think that he could have matched, in a way. A trail of memories puckering skin along his belly to prove that Hannibal had been there, Hannibal had seen and loved and conquered, had left nothing for those who followed.

In another reality, perhaps.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I tried to leave this a little open, in case I ever decide I feel like coming back and adding more. Not saying I _will_ , but I really wanted the option to :)
> 
> _And I'm just going to pretend this is what actually happened and the three are living happily in a villa in Florence enjoying life together as a family._


End file.
